Way Out
by creativetherapy
Summary: Upper class women are disappearing at an alarming rate in Minneapolis Minnesota when the team is called into investigate. Meanwhile, Spencer and Avery's relationship seems to be treading a tightrope. Whole team, Reid-centric. A continuation of the arc established in Coincidence. Finished for now, but more to come in this arc. Please R/R
1. Chapter 1

"Do you ever talk to her?"

"Well, she's dead, so I don't know how that would work." Spencer answered bluntly.

Avery shifted slightly, nestling deeper into the corner of the couch as Spencer repositioned his shoulders and head more comfortably against her, the back of his head resting against her collarbone.

"You know what I mean." Said Avery, running her fingers through his hair.

"I know what you mean," Spencer said, "I just don't see how I could expect it to work. There's no empirical data to suggest that anything happens to us after we die, so how is standing at a grave talking to nothing supposed to give you closure?"

"So just imagine it's like your memory recall thing." Avery suggested. "Or lucid dreaming."

Spencer was silent.

"All I'm saying is that it feels like there's still a lot you want to say to Maeve." Avery's tone was quiet and serious. "And I understand that. But not getting it out there... don't you feel like it's holding us back?"

"How so?" Spencer tilted his head up, rolling his eyes back so he could see her from his position.

Avery released a long, low breath.

"I don't know." She said at length. "I'm getting tired. I don't want to trek all the way across town this late. Can I crash here?"

"Sure." Spencer agreed. "You take the bed. I'll sleep out here."

"Yeah." Avery nodded halfheartedly.

Avery slid in between the flannel sheets, waiting for them to warm as she tried to unwind. A few minutes of silence passed before she heard the door opening at the foot of the bed and Spencer quietly shuffling to the side of the bed.

She felt the mattress sink as Spencer sat down outside the covers.

"Did I say something wrong?" He asked innocently.

Avery couldn't help but smile a little. Poor, sweet Spence. He tried so hard. He really did. Avery rolled slightly, looking at him over her shoulder.

"No." She smiled sedately.

Spencer leaned back against the pillow and Avery rolled over, resting her head against his chest and tracing small circles on his shirt with her fingertip. Spencer wrapped an arm around her protectively while, slowly, they drifted off to sleep.

Spencer Reid moved carefully through the hallway of the dilapidated building, his gun drawn. Somewhere in the distance, a woman screamed. The screams echoed off the walls and down the corridors til he couldn't tell from which direction they eminated.

Carefully, he pushed open a door and rounded the corner, his gun leading the way. A shadowy figure stood in the corner.

"Who are you?" Spencer demanded. "What's your name?"

The screams pierced the air again. The figure tilted its head menacingly.

"Say it." The figure demanded.

"Tell me your name!?" Spencer demanded again.

The figure lunged forward.

Spencer opened his eyes, his breath caught in his throat. The familiar warmth to his right let him know Avery was still sleeping soundly. He turned his head. Her back was to him, her shoulders rising and falling with relaxed breaths.

The cell phone on Reid's side table buzzed. He picked it up and looked at the ID screen.

"Hey, Garcia. Yeah. No, it's alright I was up. What's up?" He glanced at Avery's back, the straps of her tank top draped over her shoulders. "Yeah, I'll be right in."


	2. Minneapolis

"Thanks for coming in, everyone." Hotchner said as he entered the room, settling himself in his seat. "Let's get started."

"Right." Garcia pressed the button on her remote. Driver's license photos of women appeared in rows and columns against the blue backdrop. "Six women in the last three weeks have gone missing in and around the Minneapolis area. All of the victims were upper class, or upper-middle class if you want to assume Midwestern modesty. In each case, the homes appear to have been untouched, although a few items were reported missing from each of them, and each time, the victim's bank card was used exactly once, before the abduction was reported."

"The abductions are reported at random times throughout the day." Spencer noted as he read through the file. "Garcia, when do local police believe the abductions took place?"

"They're unsure." Penelope explained, "To the best of anyone's knowledge, the women were all in their homes at the time of the abduction. Their cars were still in the driveway, leading Minneapolis PD to believe they were taken away in the suspect's car. In all cases, the husbands were at work and any hired help wasn't around."

"So they're familiar with him." Rossi said. "And he's familiar enough with the homes and routines that he would know when nobody else was around.

"But why the ATM withdrawals?" J.J asked. "I mean, if it was for the money, why not just rob the houses?"

"Stolen property needs to be fenced." Derek reasoned. "Maybe he thinks the cash withdrawals are safer."

"In this case, they certainly would appear to be." Garcia chimed in. "No fingerprints, fibers, anything from the homes or machines, and the cameras at all the ATMs used by the women only caught this:"

Garcia pressed a button on the remote and grainy security footage began playing on the screen. The black and white footage had poor contrast, and had been filmed on a time delay, making the movements of the subject stilted and disjointed. In the video, the view of an empty street was suddenly obscured by a dark, hooded figure. The person's head was down, remaining out of sight for the few frames the camera recorded of the transaction. In a single frame, the subject was gone, once again leaving the street quiet.

"Unfortunately, that's the best footage any of the cameras were able to capture." Garcia admitted disappointedly.

"Did any other businesses have security cameras that may have caught him?" Hotch asked.

"Local police are asking around, but apparently people in Minnesota still trust each other." Garcia answered. "Street view security cameras are thin on the ground."

"Six women in three weeks, but no bodies found." Spencer mused.

"Do we think he's keeping them?" J.J asked.

"No ransom calls to any of the husbands would indicate this guy has no interest in money, aside from whatever was pulled from the ATMs." Derek shook his head.

"How much was pulled out each time?" Rossi asked, tapping his pen against his fingertips.

"Waiting on local law enforcement, but I'll let you know as soon as I can." Garcia replied.

"Any connection between the women?" Spencer asked.

"Similar social circles, but nothing concrete yet." Penelope looked to the group for more ideas.

"Tell Minneapolis P.D we'll be there in a few hours." Hotch instructed Garcia. "Wheels up in thirty."

The cabin of the jet smelled of leather and recycled air. It was a smell that, at times, Spencer Reid wondered if he was too familiar with. He sat in one of the seats, staring absentmindedly out the window, the folder open in his lap. On the desk in front of him, his cell phone rang. He picked it up and read the ID, staring at it for a moment as if deciding what his next move would be, before silencing it and placing it back on the desk.

"You okay, kid?" Derek asked, looking up from his tablet, on which he had been reviewing the case.

"Yeah, fine." Reid nodded briskly.

Derek leaned back in his seat, running his fingers against his mouth as he narrowed his eyes at Reid. Spencer squirmed internally under his gaze, making a conscious effort not to fidget in his seat.

"It's Avery." Spencer confessed at length, glancing at the now silent phone.

"Everything alright?"

Spencer's mouth tightened and he glanced at the phone again, as though trying to order his thoughts.

"Alright, are we all here?" Hotch was the last onto the jet as the door closed. "Let's get going."

"Six women, all wealthy, all between the ages of 35 and 45. Three Caucasian, but two African American and one, Gao Andrews, is Hmong." Spencer began quickly, eagerly taking advantage of the opportunity to change the subject.

"So race is not important." Derek concluded.

"More like social status." J.J agreed. "Looks like all our women either married or inherited their wealth. So maybe the kidnappings have something to do with that?"

"You didn't earn it, so I'm going to take it from you?" Rossi tilted his head back and forth in thought. "Maybe, but why is he keeping them?"

"And why so many?" Derek asked. "How does one unsub control six victims?"

"Maybe he's not." said Reid. "No bodies have been found, which suggests they might still be alive... What if he's trafficking them?"

"Well, we know human trafficking is a huge problem, but not usually women of this lifestyle and social class." Derek sounded doubtful.

"Minneapolis PD has agreed to meet us at the airport and fill us in on some of the details missing from the folder." Hotchner assured. "Hopefully we'll have more then."

"Two things are clear, though." Rossi said. "This guy is organized, and this definitely not the start of his career."

"Six victims in three weeks, it won't be the end unless we find him, fast." Hotchner agreed.


	3. Great White North

Snow piled against the edges of the runway, and the biting cold took the breaths of the agents away as the door to the jet opened in Minneapolis.

Police Chief Scot Jorgenson stood on the runway, bundled up against the cold as he waited for the agents next to one of two large SUVs.

"Welcome to the great white North." Jorgenson extended his hand.

"Thank you for meeting us." Hotchner accepted his handshake. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. These are my associates, SSAs Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, and Dr. Reid."

"Car's all warmed up." Jorgenson said, opening the rear door to the vehicle. "We'll fill you in at the station."

"Has anything like this ever happened before?" Hotch asked.

"We have our share of missing persons, but nothing like this." Jorgenson said. "Come on, get in."

The agents split up, piling into the SUVs and heading to the station.

When they arrived, the FBI agents were escorted into one of the boardrooms of the department, where a case board stood displaying the photographs of the married women. Beneath them, a line of men's photographs were pegged into place.

"You can set up in here." Jorgenson said "We've got a case board started for you."

"Are these the husbands?" Derek asked, examining the board.

"Yeah. We questioned them, but all of them came out clean. At work, with witnesses, all day." The chief answered.

"Thank you, Chief Jorgenson, this'll be great." Hotchner thanked the chief, who nodded.

"If you want to go out while you're here, I suggest having one of the officers drive you." Jorgenson suggested. "We've had some awful weather this winter. You might be safer with a native Northerner at the wheel."

Hotch stared for a moment. "Thank you." He said at length.

The chief left the room, closing the door behind him. Derek chuckled.

"I never understood why, but Minnesotans are weirdly proud of their winters."

"The habitable temperatures for the average human are surprisingly limited. Steady exposure to temperatures of 95 degrees or greater are intolerable after a matter of hours while exposure to temperatures less than 56 degrees carries a risk of hypothermia. Minnesota regularly not only exceeds both extremes, but shatters them, with record colds as low as -60 degrees Fahrenheit and highs of 114 degrees, which doesn't even take into account wind chill and heat index." Spencer blurted. The rest of the team looked at him.

"Bragging about the climate extremes is a way to communicate the perceived endurance of the residents." He finished simply.

"So we know our guy's part polar bear." Rossi quipped. "What else?"

"Rossi, you talk to whoever's on the case and see what you can find out about these women that we don't already know. J.J and I will start interviewing the husbands. Reid and Morgan, you go check out the victims homes."

The team split up, Reid following Morgan out the door and to one of the black SUVs.

Jorgenson hadn't been kidding when he said the weather had played havoc with the roads. Snow had been packed so thick on the roads the lines were no longer visible, and so hard that tires had difficulty gaining traction. Hidden beneath snow in long, ominous patches were sheets of slick ice, discovered only by the sudden swing and swerve of a car fighting to stay under control and on the road.

Bit by bit, Derek and Reid made their way through the city proper and into an upscale gated community. Massive houses sat on sprawling lawns.

"You gotta have a password to get through the gate." Derek noted "but after that, the houses aren't exactly close. It'd be easy for an unsub to abduct someone without being noticed."

Reid didn't say anything as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, looking at the time before dialing a number.

"Hey," He said "it's me. Sorry I missed your call. We got a case in Minnesota. I'll call you later, and I'll see you when I get back."

He hung on the line in silence for a moment.

"Bye."

"What was that about?" Derek asked accusingly.

"What?" Spencer didn't look up.

"You didn't miss her call, you just didn't answer it." Derek parked the car at the end of a long driveway and shifted in his seat, looking directly at Reid. "You've been checking your phone since we landed. You waited until you knew she'd be at work and wouldn't answer before you called."

Reid swallowed, but still didn't say anything.

"Come on, kid, what's going on?" Morgan demanded gently.

"It's..." Spencer started awkwardly. "It's just that... Avery and I have been dating three months, 12 days."

"And?" Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"Maeve and I spent ten months talking." Reid tilted his head and looked at Morgan. "I never got to kiss her, we never had sex, I never hugged her...I didn't even get to touch her while she was alive."

Morgan looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Please tell me you've at least kissed her."

"Yes, I've kissed her, but that's not the point." Spencer's lips tightened as he suppressed his embarrassment. "What I mean is, Maeve and I were limited because we only communicated over the phone. I never told her I loved her because I wanted to do it in person, so how... how do you know...when the time is right, when you're in person?"

"To...what, tell her you love her?"

Spencer looked away.

"Oh, my God." Derek held back a chuckle. "You two haven't slept together yet."

"That's, really not the -" Spencer muttered.

"You have been goin' out three months." Derek shook her head. "She must have the patience of a nun."

"Forget it." Spencer grabbed his bag and opened the door. Derek reached his hand to Spencer's elbow and stopped him.

"Wait, wait wait."

Reid sat back in his seat, closing the door most of the way so only a slight crack let in the cold air outside.

"I'm just kidding with you." Derek said. "In all seriousness, Reid, relationships move at their own pace. They've got their own life. There is no set schedule. It depends on the two of you, and if it never feels like the right time... then maybe she's not the right person. Got it?"

Reid nodded silently, letting Morgan's words sink in.

"Right." Derek nodded toward the house, towering above them at the other side of the driveway. "Let's get in there."


	4. Gao Andrews

"Primary home of Tom and Faye Krueger, our first victim." Derek said as he stood in the massive entryway and looked around the room. "They have a vacation home in the Keys."

"Look at this place." Spencer said, walking from the entryway into the adjacent dining room. "Nothing is out of place. It looks like a show house for real estate."

"Well, Tom makes his money in flipping houses and selling high end real estate." Derek said.

"No signs of a struggle were reported." Spencer thought out loud as he continued through the house. "So the unsub either knew Faye or was expected at the house."

"Makes paid staff look better and better." Derek said.

"She would have had to go willingly." Spencer said. "Faye Krueger was last seen at home Sunday night, but wasn't reported missing until Wednesday, meaning there had to be literally nothing out of place to suggest something was wrong."

"Something doesn't add up." Derek agreed.

Spencer continued through the house, taking in the details of the furnishings; All high end purchases, with a decidedly feminine aesthetic. Near the end of the living room, around the corner from the kitchen, a staircase led to the basement. Reid continued down the steps, the white carpeting silencing the sound of his shoes upon the stairs.

The basement was well finished, though markedly different than the main floor. A home office accounted for about one quarter of the room, sectioned off by glass walls. The rest of the room looked dedicated to sports and alcohol. A wet bar stood across from a pool table, and in an alcove a large sectional sprawled in front of an oversized flat-screen TV. A rumpled pillow and blanket suggested the sectional served a double purpose.

"Reid," Morgan called from the top of the steps.

"Down here." Spencer answered, studying the photographs on the wall. "This was not a happy couple. I mean, aside from the obvious fact that Tom Krueger was basically living down here, consider the artwork. Down here it's all photographs of Tom and his friends at various sporting events and social gatherings. Faye isn't anywhere. It's the same upstairs. Paintings on the walls, sculptures and candles on shelves and the mantel. There's not a single photograph of them together, anywhere."

He turned to face Derek to see him holding his cell phone, and instantly recognized the expression on Morgan's face.

"They found a body."

"Gao Andrews was found by winter campers off a trail in a park north of the Cities." J.J informed the team as she tacked the crime scene photographs beneath the initial driver's license photograph of Gao Andrews on the case board at the police department.

"That trail looks too narrow for a car." Rossi said as he scrolled through the photos on his tablet.

"It's not too far from a popular snow mobile trail." Chief Jorgenson informed the team. "It's likely that's how he got her out there."

"The M.E is still working on the autopsy, but initial evidence says Gao was tied up and beaten around the head. Likely COD is blunt force trauma." Hotch informed.

"This doesn't feel right." Rossi said. "Everything we've seen so far suggests he's highly organized, but this? This feels messy. Like he hasn't thought it out."

"Six women have been abducted so far, but Gao Andrews is the first victim we've found, that could be because she's his only kill." Spencer said.

"There's a chance these other women are alive." J.J said.

"What were you able to find out about the women?" Hotch asked Rossi.

"So far as anyone here has been able to tell me, they had nothing to do with each other." Rossi reported. "They all had their pet charities they supported, but nothing that overlaps. Though they all quit working once they got married."

"The Krueger's house suggests Faye put a lot of effort and strongly exerted her own style in the home." Spencer said. "That would suggest she spent the most time there – she wanted to feel comfortable."

"Yeah, but comfort apparently didn't include her husband." Derek replied sarcastically. "Tom Krueger practically lived in the basement. He was even sleeping on the couch. If he went from work straight to his man cave each night, it's not surprising he didn't realize Faye was gone until Wednesday."

"He didn't mention sleeping in the basement when I interviewed him." J.J said.

Hotchner's phone rang. He looked at the ID as he answered it.

"You're on speaker, Garcia." He said.

"I have got some weird news for you." Garcia reported. "So analysis got back with an assessment of the ATM footage, and get this – the hooded figure in each video is actually six different people. Once the footage had been cleaned up, the difference in height and build was apparent. And get this – the heights correspond with each of the victims, with the exception of the sixth, who was WAY taller than Gao Andrews. We're talking like 8 inches taller. Gao was 5'2," whoever took the money out is at least 5'10."

"So, except for Gao Andrews, the women withdrew the money themselves." Rossi frowned in disbelief.

"It would appear so." Garcia answered. "And get this, all of the withdrawals were for $1200, with the exception of Gao's which was a mere $200."

"$200 is the standard limit for daily withdrawals on bank cards." Chief Jorgenson said. "Anything over that has to be cleared with the bank, first. The limit has to be lifted before you attempt the withdrawal."

"Which means the women planned the withdrawals in advance." J.J sounded confused.

"What if this guy isn't kidnapping them at all?" Rossi asked.

"You mean he's helping them disappear?" Derek asked.

"Or they think he is." Rossi nodded. "That could be his ruse."

"But how does that explain Gao?" J.J shook her head.

"Maybe she didn't fall for it." Hotch suggested. "Let's look at this from another angle. Instead of focusing on the first disappearance, let's focus on the last. There was something different about Gao Andrews that caused him to change. She's where we're going to find our answers."


	5. The Profile

Spencer looked around at the dark, familiar hallway, the faded wallpaper peeling at the seams and the light fixtures hanging loosely from their mountings. A woman's scream caused his breath to catch in his throat and he drew his gun, stalking quietly but quickly toward the noise.

A door at the end of the hall slammed, and another scream echoed through the building.

Spencer approached the door, taking a breath before gripping the doorknob. As his hand wrapped around the cold brass, he heard a gun cock behind him.

"Say it." The garbled voice demanded. Spencer turned. The figure stood in the shadows.

"Where is she?" Spencer demanded.

Slowly, and with heavy steps, the figure approached him. The shadows seemed to move as well, for the stranger's face was never visible.

"Stop!" Spencer shouted, leveling his gun at the stranger in the shadows.

"Say. It." The voice ordered heavily.

"I don't know what you want me to say." Spencer admitted.

"Say it." The voice repeated.

"Say what!? Who are you!?"

Spencer jerked awake, looking around at the nearly empty conference room at the Minneapolis police department. The file on his lap slid to the floor as he wiped his eye blearily. Across the room, Dave Rossi sat quietly, intently studying his tablet.

"Do you know you talk in your sleep?" Rossi asked without looking up as Spencer reached for the fallen folder.

"It's hardly surprising." Spencer replied clinically while he reordered the papers. "Sleep talking is most commonly found in children and men, and frequently brought on by stress and lack of sleep, something this job provides no short supply of."

"My second wife used to kick me out of bed for waking her up." Rossi said. "I'm surprised Avery hasn't mentioned it to you."

"Have you been talking to Morgan?" Spencer asked shortly.

"No. Should I?" Rossi arched an eyebrow. Reid said nothing as he went back to studying the demographic printouts of the victim's neighborhoods.

"Are you having nightmares again?" Rossi asked at length.

Spencer looked up, his thumb tapping against the manilla folder in thought before he closed it, turning to face Rossi directly.

"They're different this time." He admitted. "I'm... walking through this building, and I can hear this woman screaming. It's Avery. And all I can think is that something is wrong and I have to get to her, so I'm... looking for her... and every time, I – I see this person... and I don't know who it is, because the voice is all garbled and I can't see them, but they keep telling me to "say it."

"Say what?" Rossi asked, tilting his head in thought.

"I don't know." Spencer shook his head. "I know that I have to say something, or - … So I force myself to wake up."

Rossi leaned back in his chair, looking at Spencer seriously as he contemplated what the young man had told him.

"Diane threatened to kill you unless you told Maeve you didn't love her." He ventured thoughtfully.

"This has nothing to do with Maeve." Spencer said sincerely.

"Often, our brains will use situations that are familiar to us in dreams in an attempt to make sense of the unfamiliar, sometimes in completely unrelated ways." Rossi explained. "How are you and Avery doing?"

"You think my subconscious is conflating intense emotion with physical danger?" Spencer frowned.

Rossi shrugged. "I think, if you spend too much time trying to figure out a dream, you'll miss out on reality."

Hotchner opened the door. "Just got a call from the M.E. Gao Andrews died of hypothermia."

"She was alive when he dumped her?" Rossi asked in disbelief.

"Barely." Hotchner nodded. "She had been badly beaten."

"It's possible the unsub didn't know she was alive and thought he was dumping a dead body." Reid said.

"The rest of the abductions are tidy." Rossi said. "Gao's was too, until the bank withdrawal."

"He's not a killer." Hotchner deduced.

"He dumped the body off a well-known snow mobiling trail, but directly on a cross-country skiing trail." Reid said. "He's not from the area."

"Rossi, get a hold of Garcia. Have her do a search on any disappearances matching our M.O in the country over the last year. I'll get the rest of the team together." Hotchner said. "We're ready to deliver the profile."

The room waited while the team stood, the filled case board behind them, in the conference room-turned-FBI-base.

"We believe the unsub is a young male, probably in his thirties." Hotchner said. "It's likely he is good looking, and he is definitely charming."

"We believe he uses his looks and charm to lure his victims into trusting him." Rossi said. "Perhaps with a promise of running away together."

"While we do know the unsub is familiar with the area, he is not a local. More likely, this is a destination for him; a vacation, or stop on his way somewhere else." Reid informed the room.

"While the rest of his work is organized," J.J finished "the murder of Gao Andrews suggests he was out of his element, telling us that killing these women is not his prime motivation. More likely, his goal is trafficking."

"So these women could still be out there somewhere." An officer asked.

"We believe so." Hotchner confirmed. "Unfortunately, as time goes by, our chances of finding them before they disappear grows slimmer, which is why we're telling you who to watch for. This individual has had time to stalk his victims. He knew their routines, and knew when it was safe to strike. He may even have had some sort of relationship with them – perhaps a friendship or working relationship. His organization would imply he's been at this for some time, and his ruse suggests he's confident, so we are likely looking for a ladies' man, and one who is not shy about boasting about his conquests."

"He disposed of the body using a snow mobile." Derek Morgan continued. "So it's possible he's a winter sportsman who's in town to take advantage of the recent snowfall, so pay attention to restaurants, hotels, any place that becomes home to out-of-towners while they're staying in the city."

"If there are no questions, let's get to work." Hotchner dismissed the room full of police officers. "The sooner we find him, the greater the likelihood of finding the victims."

The officers filed out of the room, leaving the profilers alone once again in their makeshift base of operations. Hotchner's phone rang.

"You're on speaker, Garcia." He said as he answered.

"I pulled the files you wanted, sir, and there are a lot of them," Penelope Garcia began "But the most relevant are 15 cases scattered throughout the Midwest, all in larger or affluent cities. In each case, the wife went missing. Nothing was out of place at the home, and money was withdrawn from nearby ATMs."

"Send us the files." Hotchner said. "Reid, see what you can do for a geographical profile. J.J, Mr. Andrews has been informed of his wife. He'll be coming in again for further questions, and I want you to be there. Morgan and Rossi, go to the Andrews' house, let me know what you find."


	6. 1200

Spencer's phone lay on the nearby table. Maps of the crime scene neighborhoods were tacked all along the walls.

"Hard connections were never made between the women." Garcia said. "Some belonged to the same church, two in Iowa were both on community planning boards, but nothing that would link all the women together, other than they're all wealthy."

Spencer frowned as he began to draw lines between the crime scenes in each neighborhood, checking each map as a pattern emerged.

"Garcia, can you see if any of the women were registered members at country clubs in or near their neighborhoods?"

"I can and did and the answer is no." Garcia replied, the sound of her fingertips flying over her keyboard creating a steady soundtrack to the conversation.

"What about the husbands?" Spencer asked.

"Hang on." Penelope responded. "Bingo. All the husbands are or were registered members at country clubs."

"I think this is how he targets them." Spencer concluded. "Thanks, Garcia."

"No problem, Boy Wonder." Garcia hung up the phone, as Spencer Reid exited the room and walked down the hall toward where Hotchner and J.J were interviewing Ethan Andrews.

"She...I.. Did she fight?" Ethan Andrews sat in the grey chair, his face a mixture of pain and shock.

J.J sideglanced Hotch in muted surprise. "There...were signs she was tied up. It's possible she put up a fight."

"She was always a fighter." Ethan tried to smile through welling eyes. "She was tough... Oh, God...I just can't... are you sure it's her?"

"Yes, Mr. Andrews, we are." Hotchner nodded. "If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you some more questions."

A knock on the door caught Hotch's attention, and he turned to see Reid through the window.

"Excuse us." Hotchner said as he and J.J stood and left the room.

"What did you find?" Hotchner asked as he closed the door.

"Ask him about the Edina Country Club." Reid said. "Geographical profiling puts country clubs at the center of all the neighborhoods our victims are from, and Garcia confirms that all the husbands have memberships there, but the victims didn't."

"So he's targeting them through the husbands." J.J finished Reid's thought.

Hotchner's phone rang.

"Do you have something?" He asked as he put the phone on speaker.

"I don't know for sure," Derek responded, "but I can tell you this house speaks to a whole different kind of relationship than the Krueger's."

"How so?" Hotchner asked.

"Tom and Faye Krueger practically fit two separate worlds under the same roof. They almost never interacted. Here, you can't turn around without seeing a photo of Ethan and Gao together."

"They were happy." Hotch said.

"Maybe." Spencer sounded doubtful. "Morgan, any idea how old the photos are?"

"Not really." He replied. "But I'm guessing not recent. They all look like early dates and engagement photos."

"So they weren't happy." J.J said, looking between Hotch and Reid. "They were having marriage problems, too, but one of them put photographs everywhere to remind them of happier times."

"At least one of them wanted to work things out." Spencer agreed.

"If I had my guess, I'd say it was her." Derek offered. "The locations of the photographs and the frames they're in suggest a woman's touch."

"So if our unsub is trying to seduce these women into following him willingly," J.J puzzled out "then it's not that Gao didn't fall for it – she didn't want to leave her husband."

"But if their marriage was in trouble, he may have wanted to leave her." Hotchner said.

"You think the unsub is targeting troubled marriages?" Spencer asked.

"I think there's something Mr. Andrews isn't telling us." Hotchner replied. "Morgan, talk to Garcia. See which country clubs these men were members at and talk to the staff. I want to know how exactly the unsub is finding them. Good work, Reid."

Hotchner and J.J turned, opening the door and reentering the interrogation room.

"Mr. Andrews, what can you tell me about Edina Country Club?" Hotchner asked as he sat down.

"What, are you a golfer?" Andrews asked sarcastically. "What does this have to do with my wife?"

"We believe whoever did this to your wife may have found her through there." J.J explained.

"That's ridiculous. Gao's not even a member." Ethan retorted.

"But you are." Hotchner said seriously.

Ethan Andrews licked his lips, his eyes darting from J.J to Hotchner in disbelief.

"You think this bastard found her through me?" He asked, his eyes welling once again.

"It's possible." Hotchner nodded.

"Have you noticed anyone new there recently?" J.J asked. "Spoken with any new members?"

"There are always some prospectives touring the place." Andrews said, shaking his head. "I probably talked to some. I can't even tell you their names."

"Would you have mentioned your wife to any of these prospectives?" J.J asked.

"The club is where I go to get away fr-" Andrews stopped, swallowing hard. He looked down, blinking hard before continuing. "It's where I go to have time to myself. Other than small talk, I spent my time alone."

Hotchner's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Thank you, Mr. Andrews."

Hotch's cell phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket, scrolling through the text message Garcia had sent. He frowned.

"Mr. Andrews," He looked up. "Can you explain the $1200 you withdrew from your bank account two weeks ago?"

"It was for some charity." Andrew shrugged. "Uniforms and equipment for a city soccer team, I think."

"Soccer season is over." Hotch said.

"Indoor soccer." Andrews clarified.

"Why cash?" J.J asked. "Why not just write a check?"

"What are you implying?" Andrews asked.

"$1200 was withdrawn from each of the victim's accounts as well, with the exception of your wife." Hotchner informed him.

"You think this has something to do with me?" Andrews shifted defensively.

"I'm saying that's an awful lot of money that's unaccounted for." Hotchner said. "And maybe you all gave it to the same man."

"I'm not going to answer any more questions without my lawyer present." Ethan Andrews' expression turned stony as he straightened in his chair.

"Is he a member of the country club, too?" J.J asked as she and Hotch stood and walked toward the door, leaving the widower sitting alone in the interrogation room.


	7. The Club

"In the past four weeks?" The young woman at the member services desk raised her eyebrows at Agent Hotchner's request for records of visitors. "Sir, we've had weddings and holiday parties booked nearly every weekend. We've had hundreds of guests check in."

"Any who have signed in multiple times?" Hotchner asked. "He may have come with a holiday party, but he's been back since then?"

The woman shook her head, producing a large binder. "I wouldn't know, but you're free to see our sign in sheets."

"That would be great, thanks." Spencer took the binder from the young woman, opening it and scanning the pages of signatures rapidly.

The service associate stared in confused awe.

"What kind of services does the country club provide in the winter?" Hotchner asked. "Obviously, the golf course is out of service."

"Yes, sir." The woman nodded. "However, we offer a wide range of year-long activities, including an olympic size swimming pool, full service spa, four luxury restaurants and a cigar bar."

"I've got one." Spencer said. "Martin Wright. He checked in with a holiday party group four weeks ago and he's been back twice, posing as a prospective member."

"Is there any way of finding out which services he would have made use of on his visits?" Hotchner asked the service associate.

"Um," The woman looked flustered. "We have prospective members sign their names in a similar binder if they make a trial use of any of our amenities. It helps us find members with similar interests during the sponsorship stage."

"We're going to need a list of whatever amenities he used." Hotchner said.

"Okay..." The woman turned to her computer, where she pulled up a database of prospective members. "What was the name again?"

"Martin Wright." Spencer said.

"It looks like on both visits he used the sauna." She replied.

"You said you keep a list of members with similar interests." Hotchner said.

"Members have to swipe their cards for access to areas in the club. The computer keeps a count of where they are, so we know what amenities are most popular." The woman said.

"I'm going to need a printout of whoever else made use of the sauna within the past month." Hotchner requested.

The woman printed out several sheets of lists and handed them over to the agents. Spencer Reid began skimming the lists as the men walked toward the door.

"Wait, Hotch." Spencer stood, staring at the list. "They're all here. All except Andrews."

Hotchner took a step back, reading the list over Reid's shoulder.

"Looks like Tom Krueger and Jim Stone, the husband of our second victim were signed in the first time." He said.

"And husbands three through five signed in the second time." Spencer nodded.

"So we know the first five husbands met Wright prior to the abductions." Hotchner said. "But how does Andrews fit in?"

"Hotch..." Spencer looked up, squinting as the pieces fell into place. "What if they were arranged meetings? Like talking business on the golf course, what if they were using the sauna to talk business privately? I need to call Garcia."

Reid took his phone from his pocket, dialing the technical analyst's number.

"Garcia, I need you to go through the bank accounts of all of the victim's husbands and tell me if $1200 was withdrawn from any of their accounts within the past three weeks."

"That is a...great...big..yes, Boy Wonder, how did you know that?" Penelope answered.

"What if these men were paying him to kill their wives?" Spencer said seriously.

"But we know he's not a killer." Hotchner said.

"What if they thought he was." Spencer replied. "He plays both of them. The men pay him to kill their wives. They give him the information he needs to get close to them -"

"Which he uses to gain their trust and convince them to run away with him." Hotchner finished.

"He probably convinces the women to make the final withdrawal as payment for some kind of relocation." Spencer postulated.

"And then gets paid again when he delivers the women to whoever is trafficking them." Hotchner scowled. "He's figured out how to work all the angles to maximize his profit."

"All except Gao Andrews." Spencer said.

"Garcia, run a background on Martin Wright." Hotchner ordered. "Tell me if there's any connection to him and Ethan Andrews."

"Looks like they both work for the same company." Penelope Garcia said. "Ethan Andrews is an electrical engineer for Spectro Lab, it's a computer science company that contracts with all sorts of huge businesses all over the world, and Wright is an independent business consultant based out of Missouri who comes up to Minnesota to evaluate how efficiently the company is handling their business and give them tips to improve."

"Spectro Lab..." Spencer muttered. "That's the company that had the party here that Wright signed into."

"Andrews was how he got into the club." Hotchner fitted the pieces together. "Probably how he got connected to the other men. We need to find Martin Wright. Garcia, where is he now?"

"Looks like..." Garcia said, typing. "He's staying at the St. Paul hotel while he's in town. He's set to check out... uh-oh."

"What?" Hotchner asked.

"You guys better get over there quick, he's set to check out today."

"Rossi and Morgan are closer." Spencer said.

"Give them a call. Meanwhile, I want to know if Ethan Andrews' lawyer has arrived yet."


	8. Decision

"We know about Martin Wright, Ethan." J.J leaned into the table, lacing her fingers together and looking Ethan Andrews directly in the eye. "We've got a team picking him up right now. So, now's the time to start being honest here."

"You have no reason to believe my client has been anything less than honest." Amanda Forsith, the Andrews' attorney stated.

"We know that you and Martin Wright worked for the same company, and we know you were both at the holiday party." J.J told Ethan. "Somebody introduced him to the other victim's husbands, and I am willing to bet it was you."

"All you know is that your suspect was at the party." Forsith contradicted. "You have nothing to even suggest he and my client met."

Ethan swallowed, his jaw tightening as he looked from his attorney to J.J.

"What happened, Ethan?" J.J asked gently. "Why was Gao so different from the others?"

Ethan didn't answer.

"We know that your marriage was in trouble." J.J said. "And Gao wanted to work things out."

"Yeah, right." Andrews muttered under his breath.

"Ethan, be quiet." Amanda Forsith urged.

J.J tilted her head. "Wright held meetings in the sauna at the country club, but you never made it. Why is that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Andrews insisted.

"Did you think that because you hooked him up with business, he could cut you a deal?" J.J asked quietly.

"Don't answer that." Forsith ordered.

"The funny thing is, Ethan," J.J said, sitting back. "You were the only one who got what you paid for. Gao is the only woman Wright killed."

"What?" Ethan frowned.

"This has nothing to do with you." Amanda Forsith warned her client under her breath.

"Wright was fleecing everyone." J.J raised her eyebrows. "His plan was to sell the women to traffickers, but... well, thankfully we got to them first."

Ethan Andrews' eyes widened.

"Now imagine what all those women will say, when we start asking them questions." J.J mused. "Do you think Wright told them their husbands were trying to have them killed? Maybe that was part of how he convinced them to trust him."

Ethan shifted uncomfortably.

"And when all that comes out," J.J continued "who do you think those men will say recommended Wright? Those are a lot of charges. A long time in prison."

"You don't have anything." Forsith shook her head. "If you did, you wouldn't be fishing."

The color drained from Ethan Andrew's face as something over J.J's shoulder caught his attention. J.J turned. Through the window, they had a clear view of Morgan and Rossi leading a handcuffed Martin Wright through the station.

"Maybe you're right." J.J conceded. "But maybe Wright will be willing to deal."

J.J stood, turning as if to leave.

"Wait." Andrews called after her. "Agent Jareau..."

Spencer stood in the small room off the interrogation room, listening to the confession. The door opened behind him.

"We got Wright." Rossi said. "He's not talking now, but that can change. Cruz wants to hand this over to the CRU. Seems we've tapped a vein in a trafficking ring they've been trying to follow for some time now."

"He's a master at reading his victims." Spencer said contemplatively as he watched J.J continue her interview with Andrews.

"He knows what to say as long as they follow script, too." Rossi nodded. "But Gao didn't want to be rid of her husband. Wright panicked."

"Her love for him is what got her killed." Spencer mused. "The other couples each resented each other... ultimately, it's what kept the women alive."

A silence passed between them, as they both felt the weight of the case settle on them.

"Do you think the CRU will ever actually find the women?" Spencer asked.

"I don't know." Rossi said at length. "I know they'll keep looking. Minneapolis PD is bringing in the husbands now."

Spencer said nothing, but left the room, taking out his cell phone as he closed the door behind himself. He walked down the hallway, toward the now-empty conference room, staring at the phone as if willing it to give him some form of direction.

Finally, he pressed the send button and held the phone to his ear. He swallowed, his throat dry as he listened to the ringing. Spencer jammed his free hand into his pocket nervously.

"Hello?" Avery's voice on the other end of the phone filled him with anticipation and trepidation.

"Hi." He did his best to sound casual. "It's me."

"...Hi." Avery answered.

Spencer cleared his throat.

"I miss you." He said earnestly.

"I miss you, too." Avery said. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Spencer asked "Nothing, why?"

"Something's wrong, I can tell." Avery insisted. "You're getting all tense."

"I've barely said anything, I -" Spencer began "I really want to see you. There's something we need to talk about. Can you come over when I get back?"

"Yeah." Avery said. "Yeah, of course."

"Okay." Spencer said. "It'll be a while, but I'll call you."

"Okay." Avery agreed.

There was silence on the line.

"I'll talk to you later, then." Spencer said. "Bye."

"Bye."

The next day and a half seemed to go by in fits of speed interrupted by long stretches of endless minutes. Arrests, bookings, press conferences, and piles and piles of paperwork seemed to happen around the team rather than to them, before finally they found themselves once again on the jet, headed back home.

"CRU is casting a nationwide net, and have alerted Canada, in case they were smuggled over the border." J.J was telling Hotchner.

Spencer stared out the window, the details of the case replaying in his head. Rossi slid into the seat across from him.

"Figured out what you're going to say?" Rossi asked nonchalantly.

"I think I have, actually." Spencer turned his head, looking at Rossi.

"Good." Dave Rossi nodded. "Are you... feeling good about your decision?"

Spencer thought carefully. "Yeah." He answered finally, returning his gaze to the clouds outside the window.


	9. Admission

Spencer Reid trudged up the steps of his apartment building, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his go-bag trailing behind him. The flight had felt longer than it was, as the lack of sleep and intensity of the case had finally begun to catch up to him. As he reached the top of the stairs, he could see Avery sitting in the hall in front of his door through the rails of the landing.

"Hey." He smiled wearily as she stood to greet him.

"Hey you." She smiled back.

"Sorry it took longer than I thought to finally get out of there." Spencer wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She hugged him back and a sense of familiar comfort washed over him.

"I brought you something." Spencer pulled away, opening his messenger bag and handing Avery a small package wrapped in a small brown paper sack before turning and unlocking his front door.

Avery pulled a book from the brown sack and held it in her hands.

"Pablo Neruda." She said in surprise. "How did you know he's my favorite?"

"The other books on your shelves are in no particular order." Spencer said as he entered his apartment, parking his go-back next to the armchair and tossing his messenger bag onto the couch. "But all of Neruda's works are kept together. You're missing that one, though."

Avery stared at him, studying his face intently as if desperately trying to see the future in his expression.

"Thank you." She said, swallowing. "But we need to talk."

"You're right, we do." Spencer agreed seriously.

"Me first." Avery looked at the floor, steeling herself against the words she had practiced in her head in the hall.

"Spence – Spencer, you are amazing." She looked at him, her face filled with admiration and hurt. "You are brilliant, and kind, and interesting and you have this tremendous capacity to care, and I -"

Her voice broke and she looked away. Her lip began to quiver and she took a breath.

"Avery," Spencer began, his voice filled with concern as he took a step toward her.

"I'm not Maeve." Avery blurted. "I would never think of replacing her. That's -" She shook her head. "But, um... I feel like we're going nowhere, and maybe it's because there's still things you want to say to her. So... until you work that out, maybe it's best if we -"

"Avery, don't do this." Spencer's voice was quiet but insistent.

"Spencer-" Avery began desperately.

"No." Spencer crossed to her, taking her shoulders gently in his hands, his expression imploring her to look at him. "No, Avery, let it be my turn now."

Avery was quiet.

"Avery, my job regularly puts me in physical danger." He began. "And... no matter how much I wish I could be, I'm never entirely certain that the people I care about will be safe because of that. It's not easy for me to form connections with other people, and if you feel like we're not moving forward because of things I haven't said, then you're right."

He swallowed.

"But it's not what I haven't said to Maeve." He finished. "It's what I haven't said to you."

Avery's expression changed. Spencer swallowed.

"And may- maybe part of why I've been holding back is because we haven't been together that long, and it wouldn't be considered socially normal, in some circles even acceptable, to admit how I feel about you, but really..." Spencer looked at the floor, his brow furrowed "Really, it's because if I admit how I feel about you, then I have to accept that you might not always be safe, and that's...that's terrifying."

Avery's mouth opened and closed, searching for words and finding none.

"And... how do you feel?" She almost whispered, her voice shaking.

"I love you, Avery Mitchell." Spencer admitted. The words choked his throat and his mouth was dry from nerves.

He waited a moment that felt like an eternity as she heard and absorbed the words. All at once, a smile spread across Avery's features. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she pulled Spencer close to her in a passionate kiss.

He wrapped his arms around, clinging to her tightly as he let himself be swept away in the feeling of being close to her.

There lips parted. Spencer closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too." She whispered. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell she was smiling. He could feel it, as though her smile was part of him. He smiled broadly in relief and surrender, pulling her closer and trailing his fingertips through the short hair behind her ear.

"It's getting late." She murmured.

"Stay." He said. "Stay with me tonight."

He kissed her again.

"_Only do not forget, if I wake up crying_  
><em>it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child<em>

_hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands..." - Pablo Neruda_


	10. Afterward

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this story, please continue to follow my work for more in this established arc.

More to come.

I have plans to do a series of vignettes which take place in this universe. If there is something particular you would like to read, please let me know in the reviews.


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